


Pulled by the Stars

by Longpig



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom
Genre: Body Horror, Cthulhu Mythos, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Gen, Ghosts, Insanity, Isolation, Lost in space - Freeform, Outer Space, Paranoia, Space Flight, Tentacles, Undisclosed character - Freeform, Vomiting, carcosa, haunted spaceship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 05:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/pseuds/Longpig
Summary: A space explorer awakens to find herself untold light-years off course, alone on her ship. Or is she...?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wererogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wererogue/gifts).



The first thing I feel is cold. It’s all I know. Cold, and darkness. Slowly, achingly slowly, my consciousness expands and I become aware of my body around me. I’m shivering, almost convulsing. Everything is still dark, until I realize I need to open my eyes. A blinding blue-white world appears before me, but the shapes are hazy, indistinct.  _ Where am I? _ Panic grips me as I try to will the view into focus, until I realize that it’s not my eyes that are the problem, it’s the frosted glass in front of me. Struggling against the fog that shrouds my brain, my memory begins to clear. I’m in a hypersleep pod, aboard the NCSS  _ Alessi _ . My name is Cassilda Kwan, Engineer Level IV. I’m on a terraforming mission to Idris, the fourth planet in the Mabinog system. I hold on to these facts, and the rest settles into place as the pod’s seal releases with a soft hiss, and slides up.

 

I step out of the pod, my stiff limbs groaning in protest. A hoarse curse escapes my lips as my foot touches the icy cold floor, but there’s no one around to hear it. The hypersleep chamber next to mine is empty. Jones, my only crewmate on this flight, has always been quicker to come out of her nap than I have. I slap the intercom on the wall and hear a tinny echo of my own voice come over the speakers.

 

“Hey Jones, you better have some breakfast waiting for me!” 

 

No answer. Fine, be that way. I cross the small ‘sleep bay and open my locker, and pull on my standard corp-issue grey jumpsuit, socks and boots. It’s not pretty, but at least I’m not freezing anymore. My next priority is my growling stomach. I step out into the corridor, and the sleep bay light flickers out behind me just as the section of hallway fills with harsh fluorescent illumination. Everything on the  _ Alessi _ is designed to save as much energy - and money - as possible. The fluorescents flutter on and off, off and on in succession as I make the short trip down to the galley.

 

There’s no sign of Jones here either. I’m making my own breakfast, I guess. Maybe she’s grabbing a shower, or taking advantage of a real bed. Even though she’s a light ‘sleeper, coming out of it can leave you pretty groggy, and nothing fixes that as quickly as a natural nap. I wonder how far ahead of me she is. 

 

I punch a few buttons and the galley dispenses me an unassuming pouch labelled, reassuringly, PRK BRRITO.  _ Yummy _ . I tear it open and chuck the lump of ‘food’ into the revitalizer, which rehydrates and heats up my selection. It actually doesn’t smell that bad, and it tastes better than it looks. I use the wrapper as a napkin and pick it up, taking a big bite. Tastes like PRK.

 

Breakfast accomplished, the next priority is to head to Central Command and get the sitrep. C-com is all the way at the bow of the ship, with a huge viewport so you can look out at the cosmos. I’ve always loved stargazing, ever since I can remember, and I think it was a foregone conclusion that I’d grow up to be a spacer. My mom says that when I was really little, I used to tell anyone who would listen that my  _ real _ parents were from the stars. Maybe that’s why she waited so long to tell me I was adopted. 

I pick up my pace a little, counting down the light transitions to the C-com hatch. I’m eager to get my first look at Idris in person. I’ve got butterflies; it feels a little like a blind date. I hope we get along, because we’re going to be spending a lot of time together… My job, and Jones’, is to remote-pilot the terraforming pods to their designated locations on the surface, and then get them calibrated and initialized. Usually if there are going to be major problems they happen in the first 60 days, so we’ll monitor the pods closely during that time, and then we’ll be back in hypersleep until the next monthly maintenance check. The corp doesn’t have to pay to feed employees in stasis, see? We’re projecting five years for the atmosphere to be stable enough to support a colony; and then we’ll go under one more time for the 21-day trip back to the Factory. This is the longest mission I’ve ever shipped on, and the farthest out I’ve ever been. 

 

I step through the door to C-com, impatient to meet the new centre of my universe. The viewport fills my field of vision, and for a breath it feels like I’m falling, spinning weightless and giddy into the starfield. But then something wrenches me back. The stars… the stars are  _ wrong. _ And the black planet spinning below us, swathed in sulfurous clouds, is definitely not Idris. I stagger back as if I’d been struck. It’s inconceivable… And where the  _ fuck _ is Jones? Fighting against the panic, I reach for the nearest intercom panel.

 

“Jones? What the hell am I seeing here? Jones?  _ Shauntay!? _ ” I don’t like the desperate note that’s cracking my voice. I like the silence even less. My head is swimming and my stomach is churning, threatening to launch my breakfast all over the terminal. I sag back into the chair next to the console. There has to be some explanation for all this. My mind is reeling; I’m desperate for something to hold on to. 

 

The logs _. _ Of course, the ship’s sensors should have recorded everything that’s happened since we left the Factory. If I can access them, I can figure out how we got here, and where ‘here’ is. Powered by adrenalin, my fingers fly over the display in front of me, scrolling through the logs as fast as I can read them. But the more I read, the sicker I feel, and eventually I just slump back in the seat. These aren’t the answers I was looking for.

 

At an unknown point on our voyage toward Idris, we passed through some kind of uncharted anomaly that annihilated our navigational computers, and all of the delicate networks that keep all the ship’s systems in communication with each other. Even the chronos are scrambled, out of sync and running at different speeds… There’s no way to tell where we are, or how long we’ve been out here. We’re lost, in time as well as space. It looks like Jones managed to get the automated distress signal broadcasting, but who knows if we’re even range? _Goddamnit, Jones_. Instead of a few hours, she could be days ahead of me, weeks, or hell - for all I know, she could have grown old and died while I was in that pod. The thought of being _alone_ out here drives my horror to dizzying new heights.

 

I have to find her.

 

I wrench myself out of the seat and hurtle down the main corridor. I don’t have far to go; although the  _ Alessi _ is a massive vessel, the habitable area is quite small -- the bulk of the ship is given over to its gargantuan engines, and the cavernous bays that hold the terraforming pods. The crew level is comprised of Central Command, the mess, hypersleep and medical bays, crew quarters, and a rec room with a treadmill, a few weights, and a lounge area with a widescreen vid. I stop outside Jones’ suite, my heart pounding violently in my ribcage. I press the buzzer, but there’s no response, only the faint hum of the cool fluorescent light above my head. Ten seconds go by; twenty, thirty… I key the emergency override, unlocking the door. There’s a crisp swishing sound as it slides away, and I’m immediately struck by a sharp, acrid smell. Something’s burning, or been burned, but the room is empty. Jones’ bed is unrumpled, and nothing seems out of place, until I peek into the en suite WC. The odour is stronger in here, and in the sink are the charred remains of paper. On the commode is her journal - an old fashioned book bound with what might even be real leather, knowing her. She takes it on every mission. She says it helps her keep her thoughts in order. Tentatively, I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. Normally, I would never dream of violating her privacy by looking inside, but these circumstances are far from normal. 

 

The diary falls open to a section that’s been torn out. The last intact entry is dated before we launched, and the following pages are blank. My gaze falls away from the empty page, to the burned fragments in the sink.  _ What thoughts did you need to burn away? _ I set the book aside, and sift through the bits of ash and paper. There’s nothing legible left but one line: 

 

_ Cas. please stay asleep _

 

That leaves me cold, as if blood and vitality were sucked from my body. My reflection in the mirror frowns back at me, her dark almond eyes just as clouded and confused as my own. Reflexively, I run my hand through my brush-cut hair. It’s a nervous habit, and I am definitely nervous now. At least the lingering smell tells me that it’s been at most days, not weeks or years since she was here. 

 

I leave her room to continue my search, but I can’t find a trace of her beyond those burned journal pages. She isn’t in the rec room, or the launch bay, or even my own quarters. I keep thinking that I’ll see her around the next corner, beyond the next hatch, but all that greets me is darkness. My colleague, my friend, is gone. Just… vanished. 

 

The weight of this doesn’t really hit me until I’m back in the rec suite, staring through my ghostly reflection in the viewport out at the aberrant starscape of this alien system. I’m alone. Utterly alone. Abandoned. Bereft. My vision blurs and my eyes well up with hot, stinging tears. I feel… widowed. Jones is - or was? - closer to me than anyone, even though we decided we were better friends than lovers. I could have faced this with her, but to have her so neatly  _ excised _ from me at the same time is wholly staggering. An ugly, pathetic sob breaks free, then another, and another until I can hardly breathe, choking on my grief.

 

Finally, I collapse onto the floor, leaning against the viewport, staring out into the void with aching, empty eyes, my breath still hitching in my throat. Somewhere below, that loathsome black planet turns. In my mind’s eye, I see it. My first glimpse of everything gone wrong. I feel drained, dessicated. Hollowed out. My head is throbbing, and all I want now is to sleep. Maybe I’ll wake up somewhere else, with Jones. I push back from the glass and get to my feet. As I stand, something catches my eye - a reflection in the viewport, just on the edge of my vision. An indistinct flicker. Movement? Reflex takes charge and I whirl around.

 

“Shauntay?” Her name comes unbidden, but she’s not there. Nothing is there. It’s nothing but a trick being played by my bleary eyes, a speck of dust floating in what’s left of my tears. 

 

My feet trudge numbly back towards my room. The ship seems bigger now, or perhaps it’s just more empty. The darkness I leave behind me as I move through it seems blacker than before, more threatening; the light overhead somehow both harsher and more washed out. When I get to my suite I fall onto my bunk without even bothering to take off my boots. I call for lights out and I’m asleep almost before my eyes are fully closed.

 

\---

 

_ Against an alien sky, grotesque, flabby creatures cavort through the air to the tuneless droning of thin, reedy flutes. Alone in an unlit room, a man speaks a forbidden name and is devoured by the darkness. On a blasted plateau a woman, still young though her features are rugged and weathered, trades with a shrouded merchant for the life of a child she will never know. In a dusty cabin, a buzzing horror crawls into a disguise made of human skin. And far below the ocean’s surface, the Ancient One stirs in its slumber. _

 

\--

 

I awaken from this fevered collage of nightmares drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, my blood roaring in my ears. I’m disoriented, and it takes a few beats for me to regain my bearings and remember where I am. The reality is hardly more comforting than my dreams. I mutter a command for the lights, and haul myself out of bed. In the bathroom, the face in the mirror is drawn and haunted, dark circles under her eyes. 

 

“You look like shit, Kwan,” I mutter. I splash some water on my face and call it good for the moment. Nobody is going to care if I smell, anyway.  _ What now? _ The galley, I decide. My appetite is absent, but I feel like I probably ought to eat. I step into the hallway, again feeling the vast emptiness of the ship around me. I hear the metal creak and tick around me, and beyond that, the hum of the engines. My steps echo through the darkened corridor, ahead and behind.  _ Like I’m surrounded by ghosts of myself _ . I wonder why I never noticed all these sounds before.

 

I’m just finishing up my breakfast - or dinner, or lunch; I have no way of knowing the time - when I hear it. At first it’s just part of the ambient noise, blending in with the sound of the engine, but gradually it rises above this background tone: a thin, distant intonation that might be a voice, or some kind of reed instrument, coming from beyond the door. A chill stabs through me as I realize I’ve heard it before. Shoving aside the remnants of my meal, I bolt for the hatch, but the music vanishes as soon as the door slides open. I step out into the corridor, but there’s nothing; only the muted buzz of the fluorescents overhead.  _ My mind is playing tricks on me. _ Then, the light over the entrance to Central Command flickers. It’s barely half a second; I’m sure I could have blinked and missed it. But I saw it. I’m sure… Is someone down there? 

 

“Hey!” My voice echoes hollowly. There is no response, and the passage remains dark.  _ Damn it.  _ I break into a run, sprinting for C-com. But again, there’s nothing. Just the rhythmic pulse of the console lights, letting me know our distress signal is still broadcasting, and that everything is still wrong. The hateful black planet looms up from the viewport, wrapped in its ragged, yellowed cloak. The clouds’ swirling patterns are nauseatingly hypnotic. I feel as though I could fall through the glass. I have to tear myself away before… before…   _ I don’t know. _  I turn to leave, shaking my head as though it might clear the after-image of that shadowed world from my mind. It occurs to me that the lift down to the pod storage bay is just outside C-com - someone could have ducked in there. Maybe.  _ Or maybe I’m just going crazy. _

 

The lift is empty. That’s one point for crazy, I suppose. There is no sign of life in the hangar, either. I can barely make out the imposing forms of the terraforming pods in the yawning gloom -- since the lower levels are non-hab, the lights are on manual switches here. The only illumination comes from a single fluorescent strip above the lift hatch. Despite the stillness, I can’t escape the feeling that there is something in here with me; as though there were a multitude of eyes, watching me from the shadows. I find the switch for the overheads and banish the gloom, but the unease remains. The pods, each the size of a small house, are set out in a grid, filling the bay. There are countless places for someone to hide. A bead of sweat trickles down my collar, and I find myself chewing nervously on the inside of my cheek. Would it be better to find something, or nothing?

 

It takes me hours to search the hangar, peering around and under the edges of every pod, and even hoisting myself up to look over the top of each unit, and inside the maintenance hatches. Finally I investigate the alcove where the emergency escape shuttle is docked. There isn’t so much as a screw out of place. Exhausted and dismayed, I make my way back to the upper deck.

 

I struggle to convince myself that it’s only natural that someone in my situation, under this kind of stress, would be imagining things. I just need to get myself together. Relax a little. I decide to try and unwind with a vid in the rec room. The ship’s computer has a vast archive, and thankfully, it does not seem to have been corrupted by whatever assaulted the other systems. I settle onto the sofa and look for something unchallenging to watch, ultimately selecting an old animation about a boy and his magical dog having whimsical adventures.  _ Perfect. _ But after the first episode finishes, instead of rolling into the next, the screen goes dark. I’m about to check the controls when the monitor is suddenly filled with the image of a petite, dark skinned woman with a halo of natural hair. I reel back, away from the screen, my mouth hanging open in abject shock.  _ Shauntay. _

 

Her body is wrapped in coils of smoky yellow, like the planet beneath us. Her eyes… there’s something uncanny, something  _ wrong _ about them. They seek me out through the vid. She opens her mouth as though to speak, but her words are out of sync with her lips, delayed by half a heartbeat.

 

_ “... Cas. please stay asleep--” _

 

I awaken with a jolt and a shout. I must have dozed off. On the vid, the boy and his dog are saving the candy princess, but I’ve lost whatever enthusiasm I might have had for their exploits. I switch it off, fumbling at the controls with trembling fingers. Whatever is happening to me, I won’t escape it so easily. As I make my way back to my quarters, I can’t help casting paranoid glances back over my shoulder. It’s not until my door closes behind me that I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I sag onto my bunk, holding my head in my hands.  _ Am _ I losing my mind? Seeing ghosts? The dull metal of the deck at my feet yields no answers. Instead, I reach for the bottle of Bulleit I have stashed in my footlocker.  _ For special occasions _ . This wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I packed it. I retrieve a tumbler, pour myself two fingers and down it neat, barely tasting anything but the warmth of it. Drinking alone isn’t widely considered to be the sign of a healthy psyche, but at the moment, I’m past caring. Enough of this rye and I’ll be past dreaming too, if I’m lucky.

 

I’m not lucky.

 

_ I’m standing at the foot of a sheer, weathered cliff face. The stone is not one I recognize; textured like shale, but a strange greyish purple colour. It glitters subtly under the light of the alien stars above. Before me is a mist-shrouded lake; the vapors swirling from its surface are so thick I can’t be sure that what lies below is actually water. On the far shore, an impression of flickering lights. _

 

_ I sense, rather than see, movement next to me. I turn, and see the towering figure of a man with skin so dark it seems impossible that it could be flesh. He is wrapped in a robe, of the same ebony shade, which recalls images of ancient murals glimpsed on long-ago museum visits. His eyes, golden and shining, fix me to the spot. Languidly, he lifts one chiseled arm and points to the distant scintillations. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “I will take you to Carcosa.” He speaks without opening his mouth.

 

_ “Is that where Shauntay went?” My own voice sounds strange, removed from myself. _

 

_ “She was not worthy.” The dark man smiles, flashing impossibly white teeth. His smile widens until it seems like his face is cracking, unzipping. Tendrils of darkness snake out from the fissures in his mask, enveloping and erasing any trace of human form. The blackness unfurls towards me, inky coils seeking my flesh. I want to scream, to flee, but I’m paralyzed, transfixed by the swirling mass of darkness before me. The tendrils snake closer, until I can almost feel them brush my skin… _

 

I awaken with a sharp breath, alone in the dark, trembling and terrified. My head is throbbing and my stomach is churning unhappily. I roll out of bed, knocking over the empty glass I’d let fall to the floor when I passed out, whenever that might have been. I call for the lights, and immediately regret it. When my bleary eyes finally recover from the assault, I stagger to my feet, and pick up the half-full bottle from my nightstand and return it to my locker. I wish I could blame it for more than just the headache and queasiness. 

 

As if on cue, my stomach lurches violently. I dash to the bathroom, and brace myself against the sink as a wave of retching wracks my body. But to my unmitigated horror, it’s not bile that comes up, but the same black snaking fingers that terrorized my dreams. The sound of my own scream splits my eardrums --

 

I awaken with a sharp breath, alone in the dark, trembling and terrified. I clap my hand to my mouth, but there’s nothing there. Tears sting my eyes as I curl into myself, desperate for comfort that will never come. My guts are trying to revolt, but I’m too shaken to get up, or even turn on the light. I’m afraid of what I might see. Finally, when I can ignore it no longer, I lean over the side of my bunk and heave the meager contents of my stomach onto the floor. My head is swimming, pounding, and my body aches, but nothing else happens. I croak out a command and the fluorescents come to life, searing my retinas. With a pitiful involuntary whimper, I drag myself out of bed and start to clean up my mess. 

 

When that’s finished, I head for the galley. I can barely even think of food, but what’s left of my rational brain reminds me that I have barely eaten in the past two days, and that is surely not helping the situation. Nevertheless, I find I can’t face anything more complicated than unwrapping a protein bar right now. I eat it quickly while walking back to my suite, without actually tasting it, which is probably for the best. 

 

Just as I reach my door, something draws my attention. A faint tapping, or drumming, barely audible over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. I stop dead, my hand hovering above the hatch activation panel. I want desperately not to hear it; I close my eyes, as though that darkness would somehow silence the noise. As if in response, the sound grows almost imperceptibly louder. _Coming closer._ My breath comes in a sharp gasp as my eyes fly open. I whirl around, trying to pinpoint the source. Now it sounds like the patter of raindrops on a roof; a soft staccato with a faint rushing in the background… _It’s inside the walls._ I lean over and lightly press my ear and fingertips against the cool metal plate. I can _feel_ the vibration. It’s not in my head. It’s _not_. 

 

But I have to see. My fingers find the seam in the wall where the door control meets the metal. Desperate, I dig in to try to pry it off, but I only succeed in breaking my nails.    
  
“God  _ damn _ it!” I kick the wall, frustrated and dismayed, but that isn’t any more helpful. I’m not thinking straight - there are emergency tools in the ship’s utility locker. I dash down the hallway away from C-Com. The tapping pursues me, lagging just a few meters behind. I fight to keep the panic at bay as I throw the closet door open (it’s one of the few on board that aren’t automated). I find the tool chest, and rummage through hurriedly until I find the pry-bar I’m looking for. At the last second, before leaving the locker, I unstrap one of the emergency pistols from its place and belt it around my waist.  _ Just in case. _

 

The drumming within the walls is just a few feet away. Steeling what’s left of my nerves, I jam the finer end of the bar in between the plates and pull with all my might. My pre-flight PT pays off - there’s a scraping, creaking noise and the edge of the plate bends slightly as it pops loose. It clatters to the floor, and for a moment, everything is quiet, save for the normal sounds of the ship, and my own laboured breaths. The bare wires and conduits inside the wall yield no revelations. There’s nothing here. 

 

Then, from the darkness, the sound of rain on metal. It’s in the floor now; I can feel it through the soles of my boots. Frantic, I cover the few meters’ distance to the source, and throw my bar against the deck plates. I’ve got better leverage here, and the panels come up more easily, but I’m still dripping with perspiration by the third one. And still there’s nothing! Every time I expose the place where  _ whatever _ it is  _ should _ be, it falls silent; only to resume its taunting a pace or two away. With a cry somewhere between rage and despair, I hurl the tool against the wall where the demonic drumming now pulses. For a merciful second, it abates. And then, from the gloom ahead, behind the hatch to Central Command, comes a scraping, slapping sound, as of some  _ thing _ fumbling at the exit. Quaking with dread, I draw my weapon and advance slowly. I don’t want to, but it feels inevitable. At the end of the hall, I press my back against the wall next to the lift. The scrabbling has escalated to a wet, stomach-churning thumping. I stretch my hand out toward the control panel, clutching my pistol tightly with the other, and whimpering silently.  _ Why is this happening? _

 

The door opens. A black, serpentine appendage writhes its way into the corridor, followed by another, and then another, and another, until the hatch is a writhing mass of amorphous horror, barely inches away from my face. Up close I can see that each arm is covered with tiny orifices, constantly opening and closing.  _ Hungry. _ Something inside me breaks. I hear myself scream - it barely sounds human - as I unload the pistol’s magazine into the hideous knot of flesh. A few of the limbs hiss and withdraw into C-Com, but just as quickly, more appear to take their place. I throw the useless weapon at the thing and back up into the lift, overcome. I can hear it slithering outside.  _ It wants me.  _ It got Jones, and now it’s coming for me…  _ Or maybe it killed her _ to get to _ me.  _

 

I have to get off the ship.

In the pod bay, I sprint for the escape shuttle. I fit myself into the e-suit faster than what is probably prudent - I don’t have time for all the usual safety precautions. Everything is a blur; the only clarity is the overwhelming need to run, to escape. I strap myself into the cockpit and kick on the power; the ship’s engines hum to life, all systems showing green… except one. The launch door isn’t responding. I’m trapped. Panicking. I think I’m hyperventilating. I can’t breathe.  _ Focus. _

 

I have to get to the manual controls, next to the airlock. As I’m fumbling with the safety belt’s clasp, I hear it - a light, rhythmic tapping on the metal overhead. I freeze. Something scrapes against the back of my seat. Adrenalin floods my body anew and I practically rip the straps from the seat and vault out of the cockpit. Black tendrils writhe on the periphery of my vision. Desperate instinct propels me to the nearest place to hide. Into the airlock. The door hisses shut. I’m cowering against it. Panting. Waiting. The only sounds now are blood and breath. A minute passes. Two. Feels like years. Slowly I push myself up, craning my neck to peer out the small window into the pod bay as I get to my feet. At first I see only the pods, the escape craft; nothing out of place. Then  _ he’s _ there. The dark man, looming impossibly tall, his golden eyes glittering, smiling that terrible smile. A howl of fright rips from my throat, and I feel a peculiar sensation - like a cord stretched taut inside my mind has finally snapped. I can almost feel the reverberations. And then everything seems to stutter and slow down, time somehow mired in itself. 

 

A drop of sweat rolls down my forehead, trickling through my eyebrow and splashing into my lashes. My breath, harsh and ragged. There’s a blast of air. My eyes turn away from the window and look down the length of my outstretched arm. My hand is on the airlock control. The hatch is open. I’m slipping away into the cold empty dark, that grinning monstrosity receding as the ship falls away. I’m floating, cradled in nothingness, the stars all around. My breathing slows, my pulse slackens. My terror has reached its peak, and I’ve come out the other side. Now I am safe. Now I understand. Now I am where I belong, where I’ve always been going, pulled by the stars. They seem less alien here, on the other side of the glass. 

 

Below, the black planet is not a planet at all. It parts its cloak of yellow for me. Its cratered surface rolls and cracks as it unfurls itself toward me. 

 

Now I am home.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
